


Ever At My Side

by ScribbleBeast



Category: Warhammer Fantasy, Warhammer: Vermintide
Genre: Krubespyre, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:41:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25706836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScribbleBeast/pseuds/ScribbleBeast
Summary: "Kruber, do you plan to spend the rest of your short life under One-Eye's thumb?"Markus didn't know what Kerillian meant by that, but he knew what he sort of wanted it to. Fear and anger hadn't been the only tensions in the air since Ubersreik.
Relationships: Markus Kruber/Victor Saltzpyre
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

"So, Kruber,"

He cast his gaze skyward with a quiet sigh of exasperation. He knew what was coming. There was almost only ever one thing the elf wanted when she began with that opener.

"do you plan to spend the rest of your short life under One-Eye's thumb?"

"Umm...no, I don't." He turned a look to Kerillian, impatience or frustration in his tone. "And this isn't exactly the first time you've asked about me and him."

The elf cocked her hip as she shifted weight leaning against the entryway of the Bridge, a brow arching delicately. "So?"

He hated the way those dark pits of eyes stared at him. Judging, soulless almost. Downright creepy mainly. Like some beautiful killing machine. He brought his mind back on track, frowned. "So??" He took off his hat, swept a hand through the cropped fuzz of hair. "It appears you care about absolutely nothing in the human world except for my relationship with Saltzpyre."

Kerillian issued a quiet snort, eyes narrowing dryly. "Well, seeing as I have to put up with the sights and sounds of you every day, and it drains my sanity." She tilted her head. "Perhaps I'm not as good at blocking out the world as I used to be."

"Yeah well, try harder. We do." He cut back. He plopped his hat back on, hefting the large hammer at the wall and turning to step towards the luminous dome humming around the obelisk. He didn't know what Kerillian meant by that, but he knew what he sort of wanted it to. Fear and anger hadn't been the only tensions in the air since Ubersreik.

Of course he didn't plan to spend the rest of his life, as Kerillian put it, under Saltzpyre's thumb. Didn't plan to spend it killing rats and Northlanders either, mind. Or holed up in a crumbling excuse of a fort. In fact, all he wanted was his family back, a nice cool ale, and a nice warm piece of arse to help him forget it all. But clearly no gods cared to indulge him. Instead, they'd stuck him with an exotically gorgeous but emotionally detached bag of endless insults, a pyromaniac - enough said there, a dwarf who almost definitely had an imaginary friend or a very odd personification of his family jewels, and a psychopathic fanatic.

"To the portal! No dawdling!"

Speaking of the old sociopath.

Heels clicked on stone and the hunter strode past him into the portal, rapier at the ready and pistol held aloft. Markus gave the wavering image a wander. They'd all been through a lot since Ubersreik, changed a lot. Considering, he expected Saltzpyre to have changed the most. The rats were totally contrary to his Order's belief, and, when Victor sent correspondence of events to Altdorf, Markus really thought the man would have gone off the deep end. Well...more than he already had.

"Kruber! Stop gawking. Pick up those feet!"

"Coming, sir." A heavy sigh; he plodded into the humming hemisphere. He barely felt the heat of Sienna's fire as the witch joined them, and didn't even double-take as Kerillian was suddenly silently there on the other side. Olesya was mumbling something outside the dome, gesturing, and a plodding Bardin hurried on to join the rest of them.

Markus hated this part. There was nothing quite like having your insides all feel as though they were being sucked out and twisted around and crammed in again back to front, and the world doing the same until it all swirled back into some semblance of reality, if somewhere entirely different. Didn't even make him want to hurl any more.

The reality that they were spat out into was cold. White, whistling, bitter cold. He could feel his teeth chattering already. It took him a moment to get his bearings, peering about the white and grey landscape.

"I shall be glad to get inside the mine. 'Tis cold up here." Saltzpyre spoke into the void, voice mostly swallowed up by the whistling snow.

Bardin chuckled as he plodded up alongside the hunter, pulling his axe off his back. "Stop grumbling, dawri. This is bracing, that's all."

Kerillian huffed, pushing on past the two. "Is this really necessary? Only fun so far is seeing you mayflies shiver in the cold." She headed around the sharp bend, rock face to her left, a drop that vanished into the endless grey on her right. The others endeavoured to follow her nearly trackless steps.

Markus drew close to Sienna. One thing he could say about her fires, they were bloody handy right now. A swear and shiver drew her eye and she chuckled at him.

"At least it should be warmer down there...Didn't I hear the mine is cursed?"

"Inclement weather or not, indeed the Dreisdunkel mine has a poor reputation." The witch hunter drawled back, striding onward with high poise to defy the cold. "Be on your guard."

Sienna and Markus followed him and Bardin, the witch making a sound in bemusement. "So they're transforming trolls into bile trolls? Wonder if we can turn Saltzpyre into a human?"

Markus snorted, gaze purposefully on his step as he sensed rather than saw the offended's eye turn their way. "Turning regular trolls into mutant ones?" The thought sent a hard shudder through him. "Bah, I don't even want to know! Let's just end it, right here, right now."

"Perhaps we can learn a trick or two from the sorcerers - stiffen Kruber's wits so he can count up to five?" Kerillian's voice called. The elf was propped against a supporting beam of the mine entrance, arms folded as she waited. Markus shot her a frown, but she turned her back and continued in, apparently deeming them close enough for her to resume taking the lead. Saltzpyre quickened his steps as though he took the move for challenge, and one by one they entered the mine.

They'd barely slipped off the last rung of a ladder down to the tracks, when noises up ahead heralded the first of their problems. Guttural voices and a smell of rot that usually preceded the ugly visage of their old enemy's new pact brethren. Kerillian already had her blades through them by the time Markus had both feet back on the ground, and they were shortly cutting a swathe through tunnels, painting the old stone with blood. Some foundations trembled as a bomb flew overheard, and Sienna swore at Bardin that not all of them could dig their way out of a cave in. Victor was yelling something fanatic over the top of the cacophany, and Markus did his best to ignore them all and just focus on smack, smack, thunk, smack, smack, thunk-clang.

The mine was a disarray of uneven tunnels and open caverns, causing havoc as a blightstormer came to play and sent a whirlwind of pestilence chasing them back and scattering them down several avenues. Markus found himself back to back with Sienna - which would have been fine by him, except that much fire in such a confined space was beginning to make him nervous. He was pretty sure he smelt his hat burning. Somewhere over the shrieking of rats and northlanders, the crack of gun shots was a comforting reminder the others seemed to be doing all right.

He ducked a black rats glaive, brought his pronged hammer - termed the Meat Tenderiser by Sienna - down on the rats skull, crunching plate and bone. A swing caught a leaping rat in the snout and snapped it's head right round before it smacked into the wall, then another overhead blow dropped a frothing rotblood. Or he thought it did. Somehow it still raged on with a side of its skull caved in, long enough sink both axes in. Markus' pauldron took one of them, but the other hacked a deep gash in his unarmoured thigh. He staggered back with a growl of pain, and the creature lunged before erupting in flames.

"Markus, I'm not impressed by scars." Sienna remarked. Her eye cast him a gauging glance before a low, echoing intonation drew her gaze. "...a leech!"

"Rrrr, it's nothing--" Markus began, before yelping as the space in front of him burst alight with green putrid flecks and a bloated figure - robes barely even covering his mould and rot flecked skin, a pointed executioner style hood tracing either side of a hollow nose that split a thin top lip. Markus didn't register dropping his hammer, blunderbuss in hand. The face before him opened wide it's already gaping mouth, then erupted with blood, split and burst, knocked back with the force of buckshot.

"Nice one, darling." Sienna cackled. The way was clear and she stepped out back towards the cavern they were all chased from. Bardin was already there, grumpily peering down a drop to tracks below.

"Dawri? Found ourselves a cart."

"Need us to help you down there, Bardin?" Markus snorted, ignoring his stinging leg and plodding over toward the dwarf. Bardin shot him a look in warning. It had happened once before. Markus was definitely drunk. Pretty sure that was the only way he'd been able to lift, let alone throw, Bardin. Granted it was less of a throw and more of a heave, and his back hadn't forgiven him for weeks afterwards. Bardin still hadn't probably. Probably had his name penned down in that Book of Grudges of his: Umgak manling wazzok tossed me into a bog. Or something like that.

"Stop standing around there!"

The strident command accompanied the appearance of the witch hunter. Markus grimaced and tipped his head to roll his eyes. Just once, he'd like the old sod to tune it down a notch or five. Keep silent even. Just not yell every single sentence. As if on cue, the man was suddenly at his side, a scowl leveled down that aquiline nose he had stuck up in the air, the back of his pistol-wielding hand on Markus' arm with a token pressure to make the man turn for attention. "You're wounded, Kruber!”

Yeah, well spotted, grouchy old bastard.

Markus frowned right back. "Don't you worry about me, Sir. I'm fine, you'll see." He made a show of straightening and putting his weight back onto his injured leg, which was beginning to sting something fierce. Hope there wasn't anything warp-like in those rotblood blades. Even then, it was just as like to be disease. Be just his luck for the whole thing to turn black and drop off.

"Then look sharp! You're no use to me dead!"

"...right you are, Sir." Markus sighed. He crouched, hefting his hammer in one hand to plant the other to the edge. He misjudged the distance, thanks likely to that bottle of unlabelled brandy in his system. The landing was harder than he'd planned and a jolt of pain from his leg made him stagger and growl. He felt a hard jerk pull him upright at his arm.

"On your feet, soldier!"

"Yeah, yeah, I was just getting up..." He grumbled. Sienna sniggered beside him as Kerillian stepped toward and past the cart. Clearly beyond her to be reduced to manual labour, bloody typical. Bardin took the duty, shouldering his axe and pushing the empty vehicle with minimal effort. The rest followed down the lit tunnel and to a set of gates, knocking a few heads about that stood in the way of them and some nice, unscathed barrels brimming with black powder. Literally. A bit of fire from the witch caught a trail trickling from Bardin's burden. Barely managed to hurl the thing away before it exploded in a bright bang and spray of splinters. None of them appreciated the extra shrapnel in their already hurting wounds. Saltzpyre again reminded him of his injury before shoving him out of the way of an assassin. The thought was appreciated, the landing less so, as Markus tumbled headlong off an edge and hit the mine tracks below.

They lost the cart, found it again a way on, not before Sienna came running up to them with one of those horrible, fleshy, moving books. Grimoires, whatever that meant. Plenty grim about it, though. Markus tried not to think too long on what sort of flesh they were stitched from. Made his skin crawl something horrid. He was more than content for the witch to hang onto it, hopefully accidentally set it on fire, even as the mere notion set Saltzpyre on another sanctimonious rant about the crimes of heresy and corruption, before 'confiscating' the accursed thing. It set a familiar overtone to their otherwise monotonous regimen of hacking, whacking, and burning pact-sworn in between pushing their explosive cart through increasing darkness. Markus didn't even realise he was more or less functioning on muscle memory and booze-lent adrenaline, as his accumulating injuries hampered his senses. Thankfully luck, or more attentive teammates, seemed to be keeping him mostly out of harm's way.

As they stopped the moment a silent reprieve allowed them, a hand fell on his shoulder, firmly, turning him and pushing him back. Saltzpyre's ever glaring visage greeted him with a stern look. He pushed Markus further, until the mercenary realised he'd sat him on a barrel. Hoped it wasn't an exploding one…

"Hmph...I shall tend your wounds, Kruber."

Markus withheld a snort at the tone of resignation. The Witch Hunter crouched to a knee, pulling a medical kit from where it was hooked on one of his many belts and tugging off gauntlet and glove. Markus couldn't help watching - not like there was much else he could do, eh? Though Sienna and Kerillian were muttering something away over there, and he was sure he caught the witch's eye. Bardin had a flask he was quickly His gaze drew back down at an almost tender touch, where the hunter moved long, thin fingers along his thigh, cutting away fabric to expose the worst wound, which already looked something nasty.

"Can't keep your hands off me, eh?"

He wasn't sure where the chuckled remark had come from. He quipped with Sienna, or sometimes Bardin, but Markus usually tried to keep a professional tone with his boss. Was he still technically his boss? They still had a contract, he supposed, though at this point the chances of the terms being fullfilled were sort of null and void.

The words took Saltzpyre by surprise and Markus saw the one good eye flick up to briefly fix him with a look, before his attention returned maybe a little more sternly to tending the wound. Markus felt his motions grow rougher, tense almost. No jokes with the boss. Right.

"That shall do, soldier." Saltzpyre cut through his thoughts, abruptly standing and practically stalking off.

Markus watched him go. "...cheers, Sir." He eyed the tight bandage, grimacing as he stood and hefted up his warhammer again. It still throbbed, but at least he wasn't bleeding all over the place any more. The others looked up as the hunter's stride onward apparently marked the end of their rest, but equipment was plucked up with no manner of haste and the group began after him without concern. A squawk would alert them soon enough if anything up ahead was amiss. Markus hung back to guard the rear.

The found cart was lost again, then found once more, a few man-height drops giving Markus grievance and Bardin reason to complain about shoddy manlings and a lack of stairs. If Okri was here - yeah, well bloody Okri ain't here, so give it a rest, Markus bit. Saltzpyre and Kerillian were purging heretics and outshooting each other, to mutual annoyance, up ahead. Barely cleared the way, though, as ratties and rotties (Sienna had him saying it now!) poured in through other cracks all around them. Hard enough to push a cart and stop someone accidentally breaking - or exploding - the barrels, as it was, without fighting off frothing berserkers and those shrieking plague vermin. He was pretty sure a new scratch was going to get infected. Turn him into a rat ogre, be just right the way things went for him.

"Cart's through, dawri! Give that bell a clamoring." Bardin called. Drew Markus' attention back over to where the real stuff was happening. He shoved a rotblood off a perilously steep ledge, doubled on back after his mates. Saltzpyre's persistent yelling was drowned out by a clanging of the big bronze lump of metal that had been propped in front of some carcass-laden excuse for an altar. Disgusting stuff. Obviously and offering for...

Trolls.

Right.

The roar, the shaking ground, the spray of festering, acid bile. Double disgusting. And that face. Not even a mother could love that. Only one deigned to show it's ugly mug so far, and that was just fine by him. The wood bridge it stomped over shook and creaked in protest, but it would have been too much to ask the shoddy construction give out under the creature. Markus was too busy wiping away the spatters of stinging vomit from his face to charge in, left that instead to the others.

Kerillian peppered it with arrows, barely seemed to aggravate the monster, and Sienna's fire only seemed to draw it's attention.

"Watch out, darlings--" She was launched across the cavern, the large club connecting with her middle, an audible thock-crack and flecking of blood through the air. She tumbled in a heap on the other side of the floor, hitting the bolted, but trembling, wooden doors that growled and thudded more at her proximity. Markus didn't like the idea of more trolls. He left the current one to the other three and hurried over to Sienna's slumped form.

"C'mon, wizard, up ya get." He urged. She was in no way happy to move, groaning and still for a moment. Thundering steps turned Markus' head. "Now, Sienna! Now!" He grabbed her under the arms, hauled her up despite a hoarse cry of protest, threw both himself and her aside as the club came crashing down onto the stone where they'd been.

Chips of rock peppered down, the creature gave a mighty roar. Then a gurgle. An arrow protruded from its throat. The stupid creature seemed to take a moment to register as it lumbered around on the spot, beady eyes rolling to spot it's closest prey, both arms raising and whole body leaning.

"Oh sweet Taal...!" Markus breathed, beginning to scramble up. His injury protested, he fell sideways, then hands hauled him away as the troll came down. Rock crunched under its weight where his legs had been and he cringed at the thought of it. Never walking again, permanent cripple, stuck back at the fort just looking over maps with Lohner and drinking all day...actually, that didn't sound too bad.

"Sleeping on duty?!"

Was that...humour?? From Saltzpyre? Markus lifted his head, found himself looking up between two crouched legs at a crotch. Oh and an outstretched hand. That was definitely the first thing he saw. He must have hesitated too long, as the witch hunter grabbed one of his hands and hauled him to his feet. Sheepish, Markus flashed a grimaced smile. "Many thanks, Sir--look out!"

Too late. Green glowing streaks cut through the air between them. He tumbled back on his arse, saw one bullet whiz right past his eyes far too close for his liking. Saltzpyre went the other way, a few shots catching him in the shoulder and back. Then just like that the shooting stopped, Markus registering after the fact the twang of a bowstring.

"When you mayflies are done falling over!" Kerillian called, away on the other side of the bridge.

Bardin was there then helping Kruber up - standing and falling seemed the flavour of the day. "Bigger problems, dawri. Think his friends want to play."

One of the doors thudded, then banged open, a troll behind roaring and looking about. It looked hungry, but then it probably always looked hungry. Bardin roared and hurled a bomb, hurrying away during the explosion to help Sienna. Markus swore, scrambling again. Snatched up his hat, hammer...? Near Saltzpyre, still on the ground. Bloody Taal.  
He stumbled over half on all fours, grabbed the witch hunter round the waist and hauled him up in repayment. "C'mon, Sir! Plenty more heretics to kill!" The man staggered, and Markus grabbed him beneath the thighs and swung him up off his feet to carry him across his arms. He almost tumbled, ground shaking with more steps. A fireball burst in his peripheral, something began to hiss. They were barely all across the bridge when the cart exploded.

Kerillian cackled, a shrill, mean laugh. "Not so fearsome now, are they??" She flitted up a rampway, steps quick and silent, and was gone before the others could keep up. It didn't help they were all burdened or sporting wounds, or both. By the time they emerged into the cold and biting wind, she was a dark blot against the snow, sprinting towards the solemn obelisk that stood lone sentinel for their arrival. "The Bridge! Hurry up, before I die of old age!"

"Hold up, Kerillian." Sienna complained, panting as she struggled along, staff supporting her. "Not all made...of leaf and cloud like you...some of us hurt."

Kerillian turned an unimpressed look up toward them, but what was visible of her expression disappeared as that luminescent blue dome hummed into existence around the obelisk. She was practically preening like a smug cat when the rest of them joined her. Saltzpyre fought his way upright and away from Kruber, then the portal sucked them in and away from the bitter cold.


	2. Chapter 2

The portal swirled them around a bit before releasing them into the Bridge of Shadows chamber. The world was still spinning as they stumbled out. Her head was at least. Sienna groaned and held a hand to it, grimacing at the searing pain through her body. A few ribs were easily snapped and made breathing painful, but if that was the worst of it she'd pull through.

"Still don't like that...umgak magic..." Bardin grumbled, plodding from the group and toward his little room he'd set up, the one by the mill and forge. It was a nice little set up. Sienna had teased him on having a bunk, then regretted her jeer when Bardin went on about if Okri was there he'd need a place to sleep, and that if Okri had fought with them they'd have killed everything faster and better. She was sure Okri was his imaginary friend. Maybe a long lost pet that Bardin still wasn't over the loss of. Or lover, more likely. No one spoke that fondly, or often, of a pet.

"That 'umgak' magic got you out of there faster than the caravan." Olesya snorted after the dwarf, giving the rest of them an eye. "I see de trolls gave you a bit of trouble. Good. I told Lohner you were getting sloppy."

"Hold your tongue, *witch*." Saltzpyre bit, back straight with obvious discomfort, as he stalked from the dais and down the stairs towards the dungeons. Kruber was quick to follow, frowning that usual concerned look of his and snatching a bundle of medical supplies from Olesya's little set up on the way past.

"Sir...hang abouts, Sir..."

A snort from Kerillian was the only acknowledgement the elf gave before she disappeared, and Sienna rolled her eyes. "Nice to see an old woman appreciated." She remarked, exchanging mutual bemusement with Olesya.

"Come. I give you poultice for that." The elderly witch insisted with a gesture. Sienna smiled in gratitude, limping on over. 

The others might have thought her tough as nails, and rightly so, but sometimes a bit of concern was appreciated. Markus was always a lovely boy there, now that he'd gotten over his whole magic-scorning attitude after his necromancer ordeal, and Bardin was sweet if sometimes annoyingly oblivious. Kerillian had her moments. They actually got along now. Then there was Saltzpyre. She couldn't quite figure the old zealot out. It was obvious the man was uncomfortable around her. Not just her. Women. Any woman with a backbone, anyway, so that really just left poor Markus.

She sniggered at the thought.

Still, Saltzpyre had almost grown...fond was the wrong word but, at the least, less severe towards them. Perhaps he had a heart after all.

"Take this. Go rest. We don't need you bleeding all over the place." Olesya cut through her thoughts.

Sienna snorted. "Kind words as always, darling. Never you worry. My fires will be burning brightly by the morning."

"Good. Now go. Do I not look busy to you? And get that cursed book off of Saltzpyre. Do not think I didn't see it."

The bright wizard chuckled and turned away toward the stairs downward. She wished she didn't have to take that route. More stairs wouldn't help her state, even as she paused to chug the draught in one swift gulp. That hit the spot. A nice bit of tingling through the splinters and tears in her body, and she'd be good as new in a tick.

"Sir...!"

She paused, tilting her head to peer down towards the dungeon. Curiosity had always been a weakness. 

"...get infected, Sir, or corrupt. Last bloody thing we need. Here."

"Thank you...Sergeant."

Victor's tone was grudging, and Sienna snorted to herself as she headed down the stairs towards the hunter's grim chambers. 

"Ah...I'm not wounded there."

"I know..."

Sienna paused by the door. The timber was ajar. A quick peek afforded her a view of Kruber's back, Saltzpyre's eye turned over his shoulder at him. His bad eye, she noted, or she'd likely have been spotted by the keen eyed hunter, who on a second glance she noticed was bare to the waist, a few nasty ratling wounds on display where they weren't hidden by Markus' bulk. It was the look on the hunter's face though...

"...Kruber...! Kruber...I order you...!"

"You *need* this, Sir."

A snort escaped her before she could withhold it. She quickly ducked away as quick as her state afforded. Praise Olesya and those healing draughts. Worked miracles. A fleet footed retreat took her back to her quarters. She sighed at the sight. The charred drapery, the page-strewn floors, the lovely smell of cinders still burning. A spark burrowing into its woody nest, it's warm embrace glowing through the fibres, brighter as small wisps of wind fed it through the glassless cavities in the walls. Perhaps she'd stoke it tonight, help it blossom into a beautiful golden plume, and sit by and gaze into its depths through to the small hours. She's very much like that.

\---

"'I'm not wounded there'." Sienna mimicked, her tone nasal and expression scrunched and haughty, and she gestured with her tankard as if to aid her acting. "And then Markus says 'I know...', as though, you know??" Her mouth stretched in a grin and she began to snigger.

Kerillian just scoffed in disgust, rolling her eyes and folding her arms as she leaned back against the wall, gaze flicking out the window beside them. Mayflies. So easily amused by their own insipid jokes. Finding suspect where there was none. And the smell of whatever Sienna and Bardin were sharing was enough to make trees wilt for miles.

Stuffing a piece of the rancid cheese beneath his whiskers, where barely more than his lower lip was visible, Bardin munched with a scowl before grunting his thoughts. "That's disgusting."

Sienna tilted her head at him. "Oh come now, Bardin. It's not that--"

"Now don't you go defending him, Zharrinn." Bardin interjected with a tone of affront. He waggled a finger, before skewering a piece of unidentified roasted meat with his fork. "Kruber should know better than wasting healing like that."

Mute, Kerillian arched one slow eyebrow at the dwarf. Even Sienna blinked in momentary dumbfoundedness.

Unaware, Bardin continued, between mouthfuls of food and ale. "Even if it is on a scrawny old wazzock like Saltzpyre. Sometimes, I think Azumgi takes that duty of his too far."

"Hah, you can say that again." Sienna cackled, tipping back her tankard and reaching for the bottle to pour herself another. Kerillian eyed the drink in distaste. Whatever it was they'd hauled from Helmgart on that first pass through, she'd wished someone had told her the dwarf and Kruber had been stashing it in their packs on the way. She'd have thrown it off the cliffside then, spared herself their drunkenness and the offensive stench that came with it.

Bardin paused, staring back at Sienna. "...? Azumgi takes his duty too far...?"

Sienna stopped this time. "What? No, I meant, it's a figure of...never mind, Bardin."

The dwarf only appeared further confused, and Kerillian kept a groan of despair to herself. Lileath, what had she done to deserve to be stuck with this ramshackle lot?? "I don't understand why you think there's more to Kruber's relationship with One-Eye, Sienna."

The witch snorted, tilting her head back to the elf. "You don't see it? It's not just how much Markus puts up with him, Saltzpyre's as telling, and no mistake. You don't treat a paid hand like they're precious."

"Ach, who knows what a mayfly thinks? Even less so one who's mind is as lost as One-Eye."

Sienna snorted. "In case you'd forgotten, Kerillian, I'm a 'mayfly' too."

Kerillian gave Sienna a nonchalant look. Whatever the wizard's remark had to do with the current conversation, she didn't care. And she liked Sienna. Well, as much as she could consider to like any of them. At least she wasn't a dwarf. Or a lumberfooted madman and his puppy dog. Bardin, the dwarf in the room, seemed to be content to ignore their conversation, digging into his rancid meal that probably consisted of yesterday's troll's offal. She spoke after a moment, precious remark forgotten. "Well, Kruber denies having anything to do with him."

"Of course he does. No surprises there." Sienna remarked.

"Oh?"

The witch was eager to elaborate. "Saltzpyre isn't the kind of man who'd admit to weakness. You ask me, I think he's afraid."

"Afraid of *what*, Fuegonasus?"

Bardin leapt in his seat, spilling his ale all over his beard. Sienna seemed surprised at the appearance of the witch hunter as well - too much ale, Kerillian deduced. The witch had been toe to toe with Bardin all morning. For the pain, she'd insisted. She kept that up, she'd be as reliant on the poison as Kruber was. Now that was one sorry mayfly. She slid her eye over to Saltzpyre as the hunter strode over, heels and pointed boots clacking on the stonework. Loud enough to wake the deaf and dead. "Ooh, only reality and common-sense, perhaps, One-Eye?"

His eye slid to her, scowl intensifying, not that his weathered face could afford it. "Elf, mind your tongue. I am not at my most patient."

Sienma snorted into her cup. "You wouldn't know patient if it rammed itself up your arse, Victor."

The hunter's posture stiffened, jaw clenching and scowl disapproving as he shot it her way. "Witch..."

"If you're so desperate to know, One-Eye, why not go ask your dog?" Kerillian chimed in. She couldn't help a mischievous mirth as Saltzpyre's disdain returned to her, suspicion ever present in his gaze. "Why, Sienna's already told me all about it."

Catching on, Sienna grinned and raised her tankard. "That's right, Victor. Old Krubie and me, we share more than just a few drinkies."

There was an obvious twitch in Saltzpyre's good eye as he glared between them both. Kerillian shot back a challenging stare, Sienna just giggled into her cup again. After a moment of skeptical observation, the man cocked his chin with a pious huff. "I have no time for gossip-mongering and neither do the either of you. We have work to do; I suggest you maintain your usefulness and get to it." With that he turned and stalked back off through the door, followed by sniggers and scoffs.

Bardin watched him go, shaking his head. "...wasting healing, kruting manlings..."

\---

"Ah, Sergeant. Training? I shall test you."

The call gave Markus pause and his sword bit into the wooden torso of the mannequin. He lifted a look, spied the stalking beanpole headed his way. Just his bloody luck. He sighed and frowned. "...you'll test something, all right..."

The sod had been in a brooding dark mood for days. The entire last mission, offing that bloated bloody Bubblescrew Hullabaloo bastard, had seen Bardin almost pushing Saltzpyre off the sunken city just to stop his constant bitching. Their every blow and movement had been wrong, every enemy killed a second too late or a kill too clumsy. He was in finer form than Kerillian on one of her good days. Markus thought it was his fault, after that day they returned from the mine...well, he'd just been trying to help. But he was lying to himself if he thought there wasn't more at play.

Resigned, he straightened up and turned as the witch hunter drew his rapier. He couldn't help eyeing it a little dubiously. He'd been trying to convince Saltzpyre to improve his technique with the falchion or axe, given the larger amount of armoured ratmen they were coming up against of late, and those Northlander knights were a real kick in the teeth, but the hunter had been bloody adamant on his cherished toothpick. "Sir, I've got my shield. Why not let's try—"

His shield whipped up on reflex. Afterwards he registered the point of the rapier that had come for him, would have taken out his bloody eye!

Saltzpyre didn't relent, stepping agilely in to begin a swift barrage against the soldier. That thin blade whipped back and forth with minimal arm movement, cutting air with whistles across the steel, the point never far from it's mark each time Markus had to deflect. It wasn't hard to block, but the persistence prevented Markus getting in an attack of his own, as the hunter circled and swished and stabbed, forcing the soldier around on the spot. It was easy to see how lethal that pokey little needle could be when on the receiving end, finding it more than once getting past his guard through a sliver of a crack. Would appreciate the grouchy bastard not taking out his anger on him, though.

He managed to finally land a hit - granted he was pulling his shots, unlike Saltzpyre it seemed. A nick got him across the side and he, on instinct, brought his sword down hard in retaliation. The hunter sidestepped but still caught the blade across his arm, cutting a gash. He responded in kind. Markus felt the sting of the rapier as it sliced across his cheek, turning his head to avoid anything more lethal. He hoped the hunter hadn't meant for a lethal shot. The moment of hesitation gave his opponent enough time to step forward and land a solid kick in his chest, sending him sprawling backward. The shield clattered as he released it, the sword skittering away. A point at his throat, dark silhouette against the sun looming over him. He raised his hands quickly. "Woah, ease up, Sir. We're not supposed to kill each other!"

Saltzpyre glowered down at him. "Then perhaps, Sergeant, you should mind your 'distractions', and not allow them to get the better of you."

Markus' brow twitched in confusion. Was this still about...? "I really don't know what you mean, Sir—"

"I *know* you bedded down with the *witch*." The hunter hissed, leaning in. Markus winced as spit flecked his face. "It is one thing for you to be misguided by drink, as by one with such heretical wiles!"

Confusion gave way to a frown, corners of his eyes creasing as he squinted against the sun - and maybe a little in bemusement. Trust Saltzpyre to only pay attention to scandalous gossip. "...with all due respect, *Sir*, even if I were bumping junk with Sienna, it's none of your business." He cleared his throat, pushing away the threatening tip of the rapier with the back of a hand. He didn't exactly trust the witch hunter to keep it at a diplomatic distance. "Even if I were. But I don't think she's that way inclined."

Saltzpyre cocked his head and straightened up again in his habitual, pretentious composure, that disapproving leer cast down at the soldier. "You mean to say she prefers the fairer sex?"

"Be honest, I don't think she prefers any sex, unless it works with that fire of hers - and I'd rather not think about that, thanks all the same." Markus snorted, nose wrinkling as he couldn't help visualising that. After all, Sienna was attractive for an older woman. Probably had a fair body too. Plenty of zest and energy. Didn't fancy being burnt to a crisp though in an orgasm gone wrong, if that was the sort of thing that could happen. He shuddered. Never mind.

Saltzpyre eyed him with wide lips pursed thinly, the rapier hovering at a still dangerous distance. Markus really wished he'd put it away. "I see. Then you would do best to keep that in mind, lest you fall prey to distraction."

Markus couldn't help a little cheeky grin from cracking across his face at the choice of words. He flicked a leg up quickly, caught it on Victor's and wrenched out wide. "Wise words, Sir." Saltzpyre yelped something undignified, hands coming up. Markus grabbed him first, flipping them mid fall to push the man down on the ground, grinning in small pride at himself.

"Foul mercenary tactics." Saltzpyre scowled. He lifted a knee to the soldier's groin, not as hard as he might have thought he intended. Still Markus reeled back on instinct at the sensitive knock, and the hunter took the opportunity to turn them back over and put Markus' back to the ground. He dug his knee into the sensitive spot, keeping him successfully pinned.

Markus winced and bared his teeth at the move. Still, he gave a waggle of his eyebrows and maintained his mirth. "If that's all you were after, Sir, you should have just asked."

Saltzpyre frowned down at him, but Markus was sure there was a faint tint to his complexion. "I don't follow."

"Reckon ya do." Markus chuckled, bumping his hips up and grabbing Saltzpyre's forearms.

The hunter retreated quickly, drawing upright and glaring down at Markus. But his eyes were a little wide, and the soldier was sure he noticed his hands shake before they clenched into fists and were put behind his back. "... remember your duty, Kruber." He hesitated, staring a little longer. A flick of tongue wetting his lips. "...never forget your duty..." He abruptly pivoted on his heel and stalked off, steps clicking loudly in the silent courtyard.


	3. Chapter 3

"Name one person who respects you!"

He didn't remember much else of the drunken night. They had dealt with the heretical nuisance that had been the sorcerer Halescourge, that followed his... incident...with Kruber. Then the man had again given him a second moment of pause out in the courtyard. He had pushed it down. There was no use dwelling on things that were or might be, there was only certainties and the present. And at present, he had his wine and he had his duty. That was all that mattered.

"...Valiant...Kruber!"

It was evident the others had noticed the souring of his mood, Sienna pestering him all through that Elven ruin, meddlesome witch, and the elf actually *talking* to him at the Keep before they travelled out on their night of misdeeds. No one had listened to him when he said it was wanton folly to engage in such recklessness, but then, no one ever listened to him. He, their leader, their font of knowledge, their beacon of faith in these otherwise faithless times. No, they followed their desire for drink. He was sure they collapsed a tavern, or set it on fire...he couldn't be sure. By Sigmar, he hoped that memory of riding about in a wheelbarrow, imitating a steam tank, was pure fabrication. He took another drink.

"Ha! Name one who isn't *lying*!"

Elven wench...she was correct though. He had known the soldier's loyalties lay in coin the moment he hired him. Likely the man had considered a blood price for them all, and he would only hold that against him in foolish disappointment. If there was one thing he'd learned, one should never trust or hope in anything but righteous faith. It was just as likely that all their shows of 'friendship' were facades of Chaos, waiting until their guard was down to strike. And Kruber...reliable, faithful Kruber...

He took another drink.

\---

It wasn't the sight he'd expected to see. The man was usually so well composed, even the time that cask of Bugman's was cracked out and they all lost their wits for a good night of forgetting and no small regret. And that wasn't the night they'd just had. Even he'd didn't remember some of that.

Victor Saltzpyre, Witch Hunter Captain, raised a heavy head as he registered the Sergeant's presence. He made some semblance of an effort to straighten up, the vacuous stare hardening with more familiar poise.

"Thought you'd celebrate a bit differently to this, be honest, sir."

"Go away, Kruber." The man slurred. "I'm only drinking with those who respect me." He gestured with his bottle, wine sloshing and flecking the stones. "Y'see?"

Markus eyed the empty room, brows coming together over his eyes. "I respect you, Sir." His gaze returned to the man and he found a grimace becoming almost fond at the sight. It was heartening to remember that, after all, Saltzpyre was still human. He slid into an adjacent seat, telling himself it was just to take the bottle and stop the man getting further drunk. No one wanted to deal with that tomorrow morning.

"Oh no you don't." The hunter snorted, tipping back a little as he took a swig from the bottle. The chair rocked, hovered on its hind legs for a precarious moment, then lurched forward with its load and swayed him over the table. "You know how I know that? Shh shh shhhh...because..." He leaned in, squinting as he gestured with a finger at Markus. "I'm a hunter!" He slammed a hand on the table with the proclamation. "A very, very good one. No one likes that. No one...no one likes me. I'm un...liked. I can't even kill a few rats. Rats!"

Markus blinked and sat away, admittedly taken aback at the uncommon tone. "Ohh...don't be like that sir. You're just drunk."

Victor's lower lip protruded in what was basically a pout. "I'm not *drunk*. I'm...hic...a failure."

He couldn't help a sigh and shake of his head, and took the bottle off of Saltzpyre. The man resisted with a small noise as he took a moment to register, but Markus just ignored him and took a swig of the drink for fortitude. "Look, Sir... it's not that I don't respect you. I do, honest. Just..."

It's complicated.

"...not your job. Or your views."

Good one Markus.

"Or your manners..."

Another drink. There wasn't enough fortitude left in the bottle for this. Thankfully Saltzpyre seemed too drunk to take offense at what he could have interpreted as borderline heresy. "You *lie*, soldier. Lie, lie, lie... Heresy!"

Maybe not.

Squinting and pointing his finger skyward with the declaration, even as his arm stayed mostly flat on the table, Saltzpyre swayed a moment before dropping the hand. He leaned in. "I know you, *Sergeant*." He practically spat again with that same pout of a scowl. Markus knew he was an idiot for thinking of it like that. He frowned at Victor, heaving an exasperated sigh. "Coin is your only loyalty. That's *all* you care for. You don't care for anything but--"

Markus grabbed his jaw and closed the gap, silenced his brief squeak of protest with his mouth. Bad idea. Very bad idea. He felt him tense, knew he was staring even as he remained frozen. He released him quickly, sitting back. "You *don't* know me at all, sir." Downing the rest of the bottle, he thudded it back down between them and pushed up from the table to stride off.

\---

The man didn't come after him. Markus was grateful for that. He knew he'd crossed a boundary he shouldn't have. Work and pleasure are two separate things, Markus, you keep 'em apart.

Yeah, and how good had that turned out, anyway?

He took a swig of ale as he waited by the Bridge.

Saltzpyre had all but ignored him for days. 'Course, normally that wouldn't be anything unusual, but this time he couldn't help but feel it was very intentional. Was his fault, anyway. He knew what happened when he got attached to anyone, started caring... "Should never have said yes to that insufferable bastard...knew he was bloody trouble the moment he walked in."

"Then why did you?"

Markus jumped with a yell, almost dropping the bottle. The witch cackled as he turned to level a glare at her. "Bloody hell, Sienna! Don't sneak up on my unsuspecting arse!"

She grinned. "Hah! I'll bet you wouldn't be complaining if I'd been Victor."

"I don't know what you're meaning."

Sienna snorted and shifted her weight to lean on her staff, puckering a mocking pout at him. "Oh come on Markus. Doesn't take a genius to work out the two of you are canoodling."

Markus' eye twitched and his moustache bristled as his lips formed a wonky grimace. He just heaved a groan and thudded his head back against the stone archway.

She chuckle. "I think it's sweet. Maybe Saltzpyre has a heart after all."

Markus slid an eye to her, brows snapping down again. "Yeah well don't you go telling him that."

"What, actually worried?" Sienna taunted, mouth growing wide in another grin as she seemed to delight at his torment. "Markus, darling, we're all hardly likely to make it out of this in one piece. Even if the world doesn't come tumbling down around us any second."

Markus grumbled. "Yeah, well, some of us still like to have a little something called hope."

”Ah, bless you, Markus.”

The soldier snorted. "You're sounding like Kerillian."

"Hah, yes, well mind you don't start sounding like Saltzpyre. One of him's enough for a lifetime." Sienna countered. Her eye flicked aside.

Markus raised his drink in salute. "Hear bloody hear." He tilted the bottle to his lips, only to find it snatched suddenly away.

"Drinking before battle?! You should know better, Sergeant! Where is your discipline?!" Spat the suddenly present Saltzpyre. Markus quickly regretted everything and wished he could have chosen to stay in bed.

"Give it a bloody rest. We're not all soulless machines...Sir." He growled, a little more roughly than he'd meant.

The witch hunter leered back. "Check yourself, soldier. And you, *witch*...!"

"Hah, haven't forgotten me, Saltzpyre??" Sienna remarked in mocking surprise. "Tsk, you still love me after all!"

The hunter flinched, growled and scoffed, tossing the bottle aside to smash it against the ground, before stalking to the Bridge. Markus glared after him, then shook off the bad feelings with a 'bah' and snatched up his hat and halberd.

"Oi, stop faffing about. There's work to be done." Lohner called, maybe to them, maybe to Kerillian and Bardin, who were bickering something at each other as they emerged from the training grounds. Given the dent in Bardin's brand new helmet and the limp in Kerillian's usually effortlessly weightless step, it wasn't hard to guess what the problem was.

They hustled over to where the impatient Witch Hunter stood waiting, rapier swishing aggressively as if testing it. Kerillian undoubtedly muttered something rude and Sienna sniggered, but Markus was too busy brooding to pay attention. As they gathered, Lohner joined them, standing in the doorway of the room.

"All ready? Right. Now, you know where you lot are off to. Fort Brachsenbrücke: about the only thing stopping the enemy rampaging far and wide. The main approach is likely chock-full of pact-sworn, but there is a secret entrance upriver. Use it, and defend the fort in any way you can."

There were nods and grunts in acknowledgement. He gestured to Olesya, who began weaving her magic to bring that pulsing, humming dome up around the obelisk. They were sucked in and out in that now familiar but no less unpleasant teleportation, and found themselves atop a hillside overlooking a river. The fort in question loomed in the background, sounds of canon fire audible from even such a distance. It was a gloomy time of night to be undertaking such a task, with low mist over the ground and long shadows cast by trees and outcroppings that broke up the jagged countryside. It made the movements of shadows all the more twitchy, as their reactions.

They made their way down, conversation subdued. Rotbloods patrolling a bridge overhead earned shots and arrows before they'd even noticed the group. A cluster of plague monks were hacked and sliced apart as they barely managed their horrid shrieking and praising to whatever it was they worshipped. The five couldn't have been in finer form. It was short time before they carved their way through the low lands, across the ford amidst the booming of cannons and catapults and onslaught of whatever the pact-sworn could throw at them. In a fine show of teamwork, they forced one of those giant lobotomised rat ogres, the lumbering, warp fire hurling storm fiends, backwards into the water, making it crush and drown the misshapen controlling vermin strapped to its back. Nasty things.

It was clear the rats knew they were coming. There was a serious dearth of supplies to be scavenged and what they'd left with were exhausted by the time they reached an underground cavern outpost, where only one working medical kit could be scrounged together amongst crates that remained untouched. Bardin's wielding arm took a blow that gave him grief to lift it, but the stoic dwarf wouldn't admit the disadvantage. They took up arms again when Kerillian broke the silence to point out the cannons had stopped, and they swiftly made onward.

It was an unfriendly sight. They weren't surprised by now that none of the garrison were left standing. It seemed the theme everywhere they went - Markus moodily muttered it was their curse. But it didn't make the sight any easier. Bodies torn and strewn about, some crushed by remnants of stone in noxious puddles of green filth. Feasts for the rats, some of them, props and trophies for the rotbloods others. The five showed their appreciation with swift and terrible vengeance for the dead. They stormed the already fallen gates, through into a courtyard littered with the pact-sworn. None alive, none spared, more sorry sights. Bardin found a lone working cannon, shouting them over. He hefted a cannonball into the gun and lit the fuse, cheering as a massive boom rocked the stone and the ball hurtled towards one of the green glowing catapults on the opposite hilltop.

"What a sight! Let's have another, dawri!" He cheered.

Markus willingly joined in, turning the cannon as the dwarf grabbed the next ball. He was vaguely aware of something approaching overhead, and Sienna and Kerillian shouted before they leapt aside. A lump of foetid load crashed down on the spot, rock crunching, effluent spraying with a sizzling hiss. The elf made a noise in pain, but was undeterred from exacting death on another wave of Skaven. The cannon boomed and rocked back again.

"Another one! Look at them fall, darlings!" Sienna rejoiced.

Markus grinned, grunting as he turned the cannon again. "Another. Bardin!"

"All out, Azumgi! Dawri, we need more cannonballs!" The dwarf remarked.

"Spread out. There must be one somewhere!" Saltzpyre commanded, rapier aloft as he flitted quickly off down the stairs to their left. Kerillian was like minded, darting another way, as Sienna followed. Markus frowned, grabbing his halberd quickly.

Bardin nudged him with his shield. "Go on, Azumgi. Me and my shield will hold this ground."

The mercenary paused, but grunted agreement before he too thundered off in search of quarry. Of all bloody things. Well there had to be a cannonball somewhere. He passed Saltzpyre amidst a throng of rats, shouting death and heresy at each of them as he made ribbons of their flesh. Markus made himself ignore him and continue his search. Thank Taal for that fire brandy or he'd have some trouble concentrating right...ah!

"Found one!" He called. He doubted he'd be heard over the din of conflict. It didn't matter.

He swung his halberd onto his back, squatted to grip the ball tightly. Bloody heavy! He grunted and groaned as he stood, grunting once more as he lifted it and turned back. He almost yelled as he found a shadow beside him and braced to throw the cannonball at it when it leaned in. A gloved hand took an unacceptably tight grip of his whiskers and yanked him close. Lips crushed bruisingly against his, the taste of tobacco told him who it was if he hadn't already gathered. One of them moaned softly, then it was over all too fast.

Saltzpyre held him still, eye moving quickly over Markus' face as though committing it to memory. "...come, Sergeant." He backed away again to rejoin the fray.

"...aw you bet I wi--ow!!" Markus yelped sharply and jerked away. He shot a glare of accusation down at the runaway cannonball as he blamed it for his distraction.

"Kruber!!"

"Coming, Sir!" Markus assured, swiftly snatching up the burdensome ball again and making his back protest at the careless movement. He ignored it and hurried out. Saltzpyre didn't look toward him but seemed to sense him, stepping back from the rats to close file with the soldier. Together they made a line for the cannon once more, and Markus practically threw the ball at it as they hit the last step.

Bardin retrieved it with an easy movement that Markus would have envied if he didn't think it was just because the dwarf was closer to the ground. The cannon thundered out one last time, all five of them cheering as the remaining ratman contraption fell silent. The rumble in the fort was less comforting, but their job was done, as the pact-sworn still standing began to retreat.

"Well, we've done what we came for, darlings!" Sienna called, peering down. "Look at those ratties run!"

"Glorious work has been done this day!" Saltzpyre agreed, meeting eyes with Markus. The soldier could have sworn there was something of a smile to the man's usually solemn expression. "But more awaits, depend--"

"Ratling!!"

Kerillian and Saltzpyre were both drowned out by the rattle of gunfire and spray of green bullets. Everyone threw themselves down as the shots rained overhead. Typical, just when they thought they were done. After a few seconds the shots abruptly stopped and Markus slowly peeked up. Kerillian was already standing, bow out, Saltzpyre was absent, likely took out the gunner before the elf could, Bardin was...well he never had to duck in the first place. Kerillian turned and leaped right off the front of the parapets with an acrobatic tumble.

Markus sneered after her. "Yeah all right. We ain't all mist an' moonlight!" The others began down toward the gates, to their luck finding it busted. Markus spotted a crumpled Saltzpyre in front of them and jogged over. "C'mon, Sir, we're almost..." He rolled him over to help him up. There was too much blood. The man had a hand to his throat, eyes wide and rolling as he made this awful gurgling gasping noise. His other hand latched on tight to Kruber.

"Azumgi, hurry on!" Bardin cheerily jostled as he and Sienna jogged past, a fireball racing after retreating ratmen.

"Taal...! Sir, I...healing!! Does anyone have some...?! Shit!" Markus grabbed the rasping witch hunter up and staggered to his feet after the others. He stumbled as he ran, panting from the burden and effort. "Hang on, Sir! We'll get ya to Olesya in no time, just you see!"

Saltzpyre only managed another gurgled noise, the air he was desperately trying to suck into his lungs only pushing out more spurts of blood from the ragged punctures in his throat. He tugged limply at Markus but the soldier had almost frantic eyes fixed on his goal, staggering into the portal amongst the group.

"We have any healing?!" He was met with shaken heads or rummaging through packs. "Come on, come on, Olesya, you old b--"

The portal sucked them through in an eyeblink, returning them again to the Bridge.

Markus stumbled out first. "Olesya! Get some healin'! She'll fix ya in no time, and no mistake! Y'see Sir!" 

His words were met with silence, stillness. He stopped as he registered it, took a breath. Shut his eyes so he didn't have to look down.

"...Sir?"

Bardin responded beside him. "Azumgi, he's..."

"Yeah, Bardin, I...I know." Markus spoke past the lump in his throat, bowing his head and exhaling a shaky breath. He finally looked down to meet the unblinking stare. At least that horrible gurgling had stopped, even if he could still hear it. His brow twitched, then the corners of his mouth, as he clenched his jaw to still a tremble.

"Ach, shed no tears, mayfly. One-Eye was already dead inside."

Sienna turned a snap to the elf. "Kerillian, for once, just shut up."

Unaware he was swaying, Markus slowly dropped to his knees, resting the weight in his arms on his thighs. He knew this would happen. Eventually, to any of them. They were all going to wind up dead one way or another. Just...not yet. Not like this. "...He was always gonna die here."

There was a silent and grim nod from Bardin, the dwarf planting the head of his axe on the ground, hands folded over the hilt, head bowing in solidarity. Kerillian was staring aside with those dark cold eyes of hers. Whether she too felt some sense of loss or was indifferent, no one could have told. Lohner gave a jerk of his head to the others to clear out and the elf was the first to break from the fold, silently heading up the stream toward the water wheel. Sienna shook her head and muttered something, passing Markus and pausing with a look at the mercenary before she headed for her rooms. Bardin plodded off too, until only Markus was left alone.

He spent another moment gazing at the vacant stare and quelling the iron clamp his chest had on his lungs. A glint in his peripheral caught his attention and he slowly lifted his eye to the well used shovel held out towards him. Lohner had a hard look on his face and said nothing. Nothing needed to be said. Markus understood. He nodded and grunted as he rose with his burden, managing to free a hand enough to take the handle of the tool. He was glad Lohner didn't say anything and just turned back to his table and his plans and maps.

\---

He chose a spot up on that patch of grass outside one of the keep walls, near that old tower. He wanted to make him face Altdorf, but didn't know which way that was. He picked a direction that felt right and started digging. Someone appeared quietly with some sheets. Sienna maybe, he couldn't be sure, wasn't paying attention. He just nodded and grunted and gestured to put them down, only stopping digging to gingerly, almost reverently, lay the Witch Hunter on them and wrap him. He almost didn't want to, but he was too familiar with the loss that came with death to have any illusions about his late superior coming suddenly alive.

Thankfully the others left him otherwise alone as he dug. It was a ritual, for him. Coming to terms, meting out his pain, his anger, on the earth. Everyone he got close to died. It was just a fact.

His family.

His men.

His...well...Saltzpyre. 

When he couldn't dig anymore, he lay the hunter in the earth, a kiss pressed to the cloth. Through the wet film over his eyes he managed to find the shovel again and return the soil to its place, silent in his work until the earth lay in a slight mound. He found rocks to cover it with, refusing any vermin to disturb the hunter from his well earned rest.

At some point, a silent hand had delivered bottles of ale and wine; a gracious gift he definitely needed. He sat, exhausted physically, mentally, emotionally. Thought for a bit that his shaky grip was splashing his beer, until halfway through the second bottle he registered the salty taste trickling past his moustache wasn't that at all. A firm hand gripped his shoulder before he resigned himself to the moment, and pulled him just enough into focus.

"...guess now we really are the Ubersreik Four." He mumbled, stare unwavering from the mound of earth and stone.

"We'll always be the Five, Azumgi. There'll be tales of old Saltzpyre to sing, by my word." Bardin replied softly.

Markus just shrugged with a sigh. "This was always comin', wasn't it? For him? For all of us?"

"Death comes to everyone. Life'd be boring otherwise." Bardin remarked. The dwarf cleared his throat and offered out something to him. Markus peered at it and felt his chest clamp tight again. That rapier and the battered watchtower Saltzpyre was never without. "It's what he'd want, Azumgi."

Markus swallowed and frowned away his feelings, rising from his spot. "Yeah, well I dunno I can handle that." He took the two possessions, eyed them a moment before approaching the grave. He carefully put the hat down in place of a headstone, then slid the sword through it and wedged it securely in the stone and earth beneath. Bardin was gone as he sat down again, and he took up another bottle.


	4. Chapter 4

They held off venturing out until Markus was no longer blind drunk - turned out Lohner ended up having to hide their supplies under lock and key for that to happen. And, when it did, the mercenary was barely more tolerable nearing sober than he was utterly inebriated.

The group understood. Markus was damaged goods. They all were, from the start.

They rallied at the Bridge for a mission to take down a Skaven Warlord. Easy stuff for them, Lohner insisted, they'd already had experience inciting internal strife amongst the vermin. And, as they quickly learnt within minutes of finding and breaching the ratmen's lair - buried in an old Dwarven hold, Karak Gnol or Gnarl or Knot or something - Kruber was making up for their loss of manpower with a berserker fury. The poor Skaven didn't know what hit them.

They got down the way easily enough, but the rats clearly knew they were coming. The waves were incessant and Sienna began emitting dangerous bursts of flame, hair blazing brightly. Bardin warily warned her to cool off, not eager to take fire any time soon, as Kerillian was caught in a blast that set half her cloak ablaze. Bardin had to push her into water to smother it, a feat he definitely took no delight in at all, and would never want to do again, should the occasion arise. The brooding Markus seemed more than happy to lose himself in hacking through the vermin, pausing after a long and troublesome tide to pant and almost grin at the carnage.

"Bit exciting hereabouts, innit, Sir?" He remarked, before a pause. A flicker of distress crossed his features before his face went blank, and he stomped on ahead of the others. The other three stayed silent and followed. Even the elf, though she had already expressed her ennui at the fleeting mortality of men, appeared to respect the loss felt by the rest of them.

It was the misfortune of a ratling gunner to come upon the group shortly after. Markus couldn't have honed in on the creature any quicker, and charged like a battering ram with a feral cry. The rat went down before it could even lift the barrel, impaled on the end of the halberd. At that point it was all fists. Bone crunched into stone, blood and pulp smeared messily across the ground and Markus' knuckles and face. Bardin eventually had to pull the soldier off the mangled mess when distant shrieks and tolling of bells heralded another incoming pack.

The trail continued deeper into the heart of the ruin, where wrought stone gave way to burrows and wooden scaffolding propping up cables and humming, green machines. A rat ogre gave them pause for long enough for a packmaster to slip amongst the group, it's hook snatching Sienna around the throat and throttling a cry as it began to drag her away.

"Sienna! Packmaster's got her!" Kerillian shouted over the roar of the ogre, leaping aside as it's giant fists came crashing down and pulverised the ground where she'd stood. Markus hacked his way out of the fray, following the glow of fire and flash of red amongst mottled browns and pinks of rats.

"Hang on, Sienna!" Markus yelled, barging through rats to extend his halberd and jab at the one tugging away their wizard. The creature shrieked and dropped the hook, and Sienna tumbled to the ground gasping. Markus proceeded to hack the rat's head from its body, before whirling as a glaive almost sunk into his arm, barely blocking the blow. The blackrat had brought reinforcements, a whole patrol of them. He managed to reach down and grab Sienna by the arm. "Get up, Sienna. Come on!"

"Go, Markus." She rasped, hunched as she fought off the burning that made sigils blaze over her skin.

"It's not happening, Sienna. Get up, come on!"

She shook her head with a weak chuckle, staggering to her feet. "Don't worry about Aunty Sienna, darling. I'll be just fine." She pulled out her sword in her other hand, staff held up and flecks of ember beginning to smoulder from her skin. A glow began to take over her eyes, a too-wide grin stretching across her face. "Go, Markus, darling."

Markus hesitated with a wretched stare at the witch, beating away one blackrat. But it was clear there were too many for them, even together, and Bardin and Kerillian were nowhere in sight, though he could hear them. "Sienna...!" The witch turned and forcefully pushed him past the rats, and he stumbled to bring his halberd up as one rounded on him.

"Now, little ratties...who wants to dance??" Sienna cackled. A heat burst from the centre of the ring of vermin where she stood, feet planted, and fire erupted from her staff and blade. The rats shrieked, some falling back charred and smouldering, others slashed open with burning cuts. Not enough of them. A cry went up, an exclamation of 'Aqshy!' as an inferno exploded from the centre of the throng.

Markus fell back again, blown away by the blast, the heat burning on his face. "Sienna, no!" He turned and scrambled up, ran from the scene like a coward. Or because he just couldn't handle any more grief. The smell of charred flesh followed him to the others, just as that gurgling still echoed in his ears. He said nothing. They didn't ask, seemed to know what had happened. A look of genuine loss passed over Kerillian's eyes and she bowed her head briefly, before turning and flitting off for their destination. Bardin followed, stocky and silent, speaking with his axe blows to each foe. Markus followed in kind.

They found the warlord, a big, stupid, gnashing brute of a stormvermin, skulls and pikes adorning his back. They didn't have the time for his bravado. The moment the rat landed paw in the little arena of a throne room, the three charged it with vengeful fury. They left it in pieces amongst its kin. Those rats still alive began shrieking and clambering away, pushing at each other, ignoring the three who made their quick escape. The portal at the end of the road should have seemed like a beacon of haven, but even as they warped through and back to the Bridge, none of them could muster a sense of relief.

Lohner took one look as the battered trio and understood. His face was grim, rightly so, and he urged them to go rest up. Markus withdrew to his rooms. Just him and a good few bottles. Lohner probably knew he'd found his way into the stash; Markus didn't care. It was this or...well, something else. Taking a swig of brandy, he slid his eye to the little shelf by the door outside. The little figures made of wood and potato. The family with the dog. The little man with a stick and his four friends.

...his two friends.

He doused himself with brandy and wine for another night. Taal willing, it wouldn't be much longer.

\---

They were headed to a farm. Lohner hadn't wanted them to go. Their spirits were down, their numbers even more disadvantaged than before - it just didn't look good. But it was only a few farmsteads and a search for survivors, so it couldn't be too bad. Besides, all three needed to get out of the keep before someone killed someone else, or themselves.

It was a lackluster trek up muddy road and over a fence into wheat fields. Already they could see clusters of rotbloods and ratmen. Or, rather, Markus and Kerillian could see them. Bardin disappeared into the wheat field, the tips of the golden grain above his head. He called to the others and drew the attention of the pact-sworn. It was almost ironic, if it wasn't tragic, losing the dwarf in a field. Markus didn't see it happen - couldn't, really, through the crop. It was just a frenzy of flying wheat and blood. By the time he cut through the rotbloods, Bardin was gone. Just like that. A sorry way to go for a dwarf who'd fought of dozens at his side. Markus didn't have time to mourn; Kerillian was already far ahead at the farm, blades twirling as she carved her way up to a Chaos warrior. He swore, promised Gorekkson he'd be avenged, and ran on after the elf.

He couldn't be sure what happened. One moment he was gaining on Kerillian, the next another tide of rats and rotties came pouring over the fences. He found himself backed into the barn and cursed his distraction. The halberd was too big to swing adequately in that space. He tried to focus. Could only hear that rasping, gurgling, drowning. He smelt burning flesh, saw the broken, bloody stalks of wheat and the crumpled bent armour beneath them. Felt the heavy thud, thud, thud and garbled roar of a...oh bollocks.

"Mayflies!" He heard Kerillian yell from outside. Couldn't see her. Didn't want to. He was sure he knew what was happening. He backed up, hacked a rotblood's head from its neck, kept an eye out for lashing tentacles, ended up out in the open.

Then, there it was. He tried not to think about what that was in its mouth - one of its mouths. It's mishappen, bulbous body moved too quickly for something so cumbersome, with so many limbs and things going on there. Even without eyes it seemed to detect him and turned its neck/mouth/appendage toward him, circular rows of teeth gnashing against each other as the flesh undulated before it emitted a loud, saliva spattering roar.

Not the way he wanted to go, not by a long bloody shot.

"...be seeing you soon, Sir..." He breathed. He dropped his halberd, pulled out a bomb. "Aw'right. Come at me, you ugly bastard!"

\---

Olesya made a disconcerted noise, stepping back from her table of arcane paraphernalia, mists of magic dispersing with a gesture.

"All that bad, is it?" The old barkeep asked from behind. He leaned against the wall, arms folded, heavy brow low over his eyes.

The Kislevite huffed with a shake of her head. "Not the way I expected it to go." She tilted her head to peer out her one eye up at Lohner. "You know what this means."

Lohner grunted with a nod, arms unfolding. He reached back and grabbed up a hefty, broad blade. An old piece, aged with use but still good. More than good enough to deal with some rats. "Been a little out of practice."

Olesya chuckled, hobbling on her peg over to the Bridge and conjuring up that glowing dome. "We'll get your old bones back into shape."

They stepped in, the light pulsed and swirled, then blinked out, leaving Taal's Horn keep empty and still.


End file.
